On Submitting and Submitting

In our 21st year, I reflect on who we are and why we went to all of this trouble. Artvilla’s beginnings are all about being the outsider. Recently I tried to submit again. The outsider is outside because of that word. The ArtVilla’s may often be created by people, the world would say, can’t handle rejection. This is probably true. Maybe that is why Summer Breeze formed motherbird.com also but she didn’t have the same ego as I. She simply wrote her poems, published them and never thought of submitting to others.

Every now and then your editor and publisher of artvilla.com thinks he will publish on the established insider sites. The one who accepts poems from others, shoots the bird at submitting every time. He knows you run into another editor, possibly like him.

There is the published art, the rejected art, and the fuck you I won’t submit art. The last is not the best, it’s just the treasure buried. You can find it in your attics, in your trunks. There are many Emily Dickinsons, some of us really seem to do it for reasons other than pleasing anyone but ourselves. It’s like we create and set it beside the road for you to discover, or not, to keep, or not. It’s not up to us. We just are lousy salesmen.

You can find me here. This is my attic.My attic has the most beautiful things in it that can be found no where else. These attic items are by many many wonderful people who deserve your attention.

I thank the folks who don’t have my affliction for submitting their work. Thanks for being in my attic with me. I’m dedicated to keeping these magnetic spots charged and our work up.
It’s a lot of work to start a website. Don’t be like Dave, submit.
(Frankly we should change that word. It brings out the Braveheart in me. lol)
🙂
Dave Jackson
Artvilla.com

Shakes Spear Poem

(Shakes a Spear)
Thou doth know it here,
that he who sang thy favorite song,
was anon
and anon I’ve come

(Shakes Spear)

Your second coming may bode not well
for following the beast and infidel,
for of your Cyrus our teller does not tell
but of the beast, he says it well.

what say ye?

Your kindness runs through like sand
It is the blood of the child on your hands.
When you’ve had your say and done your part,
you raise a bloody heart.

what say ye

these noble lads have come to share
their tales of woe and pull their hair.
When the lever is turned by man
The end will come by his own hand

for in some cave some tale was told
a sail we both make and unfold
and when the wind begins so bold
we will say it was foretold!

David Michael Jackson